Heart Of Ice, Blade Of Ice
by awesomest99er
Summary: Elsa keeps weird jobs. She'll do anything anyone asks...as long as they pay the right price. Recently, she's considered herself an assassin because most people hire her to kill people. But with this new job, Elsa wonders why her client wants this girl dead.
1. Chapter 1

**Shippings: *Lots* of Hans X Anna at the beginning...Of course Anna breaks up with him and stuff. :U Then she goes with Kristoff, naturally.**

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><p>I was late to my next appointment. I checked my phone for the directions. Muttering a curse word, I ran down the next street and through the door of an office building. It was hard to run in high heels and official clothing for a business, but I managed. And no ice appeared at my fingers. I was doing great with that, at least.<p>

'Is this the right place?' I thought, looking around. 'Seems like a fancy place to hire an assassin.'

"How may I help you, ma'am?"

I looked at the woman at a desk.

"Yes. I'm looking for..." I frowned at my phone. "Hans Westergard?"

"Fifth floor, to the left of the elevator," she replied.

Oh thank God, an elevator!

"Thank you," I mumbled.

I headed towards an elevator between two potted plants. After I punched the button repeatedly, the metal doors slid open. Another man was already there. I walked into the small metal room.

"What floor?" the man asked in an odd accent (or maybe a speech impediment).

"Huh?" I stared at him blankly. 'Great, way to blow that cover. What kind of business person does that?'

"What floor?" he repeated.

"Oh. Fifth. Thank you." 'Maybe I can save it...'

He pressed the button for the fifth floor. We waited in awkward silence as the elevator rose, and I fiddled with my gloves that I had to wear thanks to my... predicament, I guess. The other man was let off at the fourth floor.

'Finally. Fifth floor.'

I walked out of the elevator and into the room directly to the left.

"Hello?" I called, knocking lightly with my knuckles.

When no one answered, I opened the door.

"Anyone here? I, um, have an appointment?"

Still no answer.

I ventured deeper into the office. On the desk was a picture of a beautiful woman. Either his wife, his girlfriend, or his daughter (unless he was crazy about his ridiculously young mother, but that wasn't likely).

"Sorry! I was making a copy of so-"

I whirled around at the sound of his voice. Thank God I was wearing gloves, or else my ice powers might have kicked in at that point.

"Oh, it's you," we said (almost) at the same time.

"I'm guessing you're Elsa?" he said in a question.

"Yes."

Mr. Westergard raised an eyebrow. "Right." He closed the door and sat down at his desk. "Just to be sure...You..." He whispered the last part: "Are a hired assassin?"

I nodded. "And intelligencer, if you need that, too."

"Okay, well..." Mr. Westergard glanced around before dropping down to a whisper again. "I need you to kill someone for me."

"Who?"

Mr. Westergard handed me a folded paper. "That's the person. Now, I suppose we should discuss pricing..."

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><p>In my home, I changed into a hoodie and sweatpants. I had already cashed the check, which was the only money I'd get from him until I killed...whoever. I unfolded the paper. This is what it said:<p>

_*Anna Arren_

_*Age: 21_

_*Occupation: Student (Hawking University)_

_*Address: 2513 Birchwood Drive_

I flipped the paper over, just in case, and then dropped it on my coffee table.

No contact information. I guess I'd have to figure that out myself.

After changing to gloves that allow you to type on phones and tablets and such, I turned on my phone and typed "anna arren" on the Safari app. The page loaded slowly (note to self: look for inexpensive computers or laptops at Best Buy), but eventually, it came up.

The first website found was a Facebook page. Naturally I clicked it.

Based on her profile, I could tell that Anna cared how she looked, loved selfies, and might have been a hipster. She had red hair, bright teal eyes, and freckles. Her profile picture featured her wearing winter clothes: a beanie, a puffy scarf, and a really nice jacket. Okay, I didn't care about clothing, but the jacket looked good on her at least. In her profile, it said that she liked summer, food, clothes, and her boyfriend. Also it said she was majoring in communication and journalism. I glanced at other pictures she had. Just some selfies, and a picture of her building a snowman. Nothing of interest.

'Why would Hans want that girl dead?' I thought. But the most important thing about my job was not questioning why and just doing the job.

I glanced in my fridge and decided that I would have to go get something to eat. Grabbing my keys and phone, I left the house.

My car wasn't very expensive even though I earned more than the minimum wage for my job. Unfortunately, it didn't have a steady income, and my other job at Walmart didn't pay very much.

I drove to the grocery store. Very few people were there. I grabbed a shopping cart, and I walked down the dairy aisle. Milk, water bottles, some microwave meals, coffee, and cereal. Yeah, I wasn't the healthiest person.

After I purchased the food, I drove back to my house. Then I ate a dismal meal of microwaved chicken pot pie and water as I watched Netflix on my phone.

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><p><strong>Yes, Anna is 21...<strong>**Elsa is 24 in this fanfiction, though, so it makes more sense. o_o**

**Also this story is giving me a weird search history. Someone's gonna wonder why I looked up "eye shadow that goes with red hair" even though I don't have red hair.**

**OH NO.**

**THEY KNOW.**

**THEY KNOW MY HAIR ISN'T RED.**

**THEY'LL KNOW HOW I LOOK.**

**GBYUFHIEKJDLS**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for procrastinating on this story. I know what's gonna happen; I just can't get it on the computer. :I ****Also I've been constantly going on character-maker things to visualize my weird versions of them. **

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><p>"Sir, that'll be eleven dollars and eighty-nine cents," I said.<p>

As the man counted out his money, I looked at other checkout lanes to see if anyone was in line and wanted to move over to my checkout lane. (As usual, the lines were horrendous because Walmart refused to open more than two checkout lanes).

A young couple moved into my lane as I gave the other man his receipt.

"Have a nice day."

I turned to the couple next in line. They both looked familiar, but the man was very nervous-looking.

Looking down again, I began to scan their stuff. They were just purchasing normal groceries, like milk and whatnot. Nothing suspicious.

The man scanned his credit card while I bagged their groceries.

When he was about to leave, I said, "Sir, do I know you from anywhere? Sorry, it's just that you look familiar."

"Oh...Maybe you're from my work?"

"Maybe. What's your name?" 'Hopefully that doesn't sound to creepy and stalkerish.'

"...Hans."

"Oh! That's where-um-" I cut myself off and glanced at the girl. 'Why does she look familiar then?'

"Well...Bye."

They turned and left. I caught a glimpse of the logo on the girl's varsity jacket: A hawk and the words "Hawking University".

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><p>It was really bothering me. Why did Hans want Anna dead? And how come he was with her?<p>

I stood nervously in the elevator rising up to the fifth floor. Making a "ding!" noise, the metal doors slid open. I stumbled into his office because I was wearing my business outfit again. Straightening out my skirt, I said, "Mr. Westergard?"

Hans looked up from whatever he was writing. "Oh. It's you."

"Yes. Look, I'm not so certain about this..." I struggled to find the write word. "Job."

"Why not?" Hans asked.

"I just...Why do you want her...you know...?" I decided it would be best no to mention any assassination whatsoever.

"Do you usually question the people who hire you?" Hans asked.

"No, but-"

"Why is it different this time?" He made an expression of extreme annoyance.

"Well, it's just that you seem very close to her, so I don't understand why you want me to do this."

"Do not question why. Just do it." Hans stood up angrily. "Or do you want to be fired?"

I clenched my fists. Then, deciding it wouldn't be worth an argument, I muttered, "That won't be necessary." I stormed away, and my fingers felt cold due to angry ice forming at my hands.

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><p>I ran my gloved fingers through my messy hair. Rent was due, and money would be tight for a while. I considered the assassin job that bothered me so much.<p>

Changing to touchscreen gloves again, I texted Hans and told him that I would be doing the job.

Then I came back to Anna's Facebook page. She had a new post saying, "So exited for the party at school tomorrow!" It had about seven exclamation points, a heart emoticon, and a smiley. Then, under that, she corrected "exited" to "excited".

I rubbed my chin.

"I'm only twenty-four," I told myself. "I can probably pretend to be a college student..."

I considered the money left on my debit card. Maybe I could buy a Hawking University jacket, or some sort of party clothes. Buying the clothes for my disguise would be a little bit hard, but I could do it. And after the job was done, I'd have more money.

I ran to my closet, which probably annoyed the people living under me. Throwing sweatshirts, disguises, and shoes behind me, I searched frantically for anything that seemed like a college student ready for a party. The only things I could find were some light blue ballet flats, a bracelet, and some gloves that could probably be acceptable at a party.

"Guess I'll have to go shopping," I muttered.

Then I checked my phone again. One person had commented on Anna's post: "what time is the party?" Anna replied with, "8". (Eight A.M. wouldn't make any sense at all, which is why I just assumed she meant eight P.M. Anyone would.)

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><p>Gritting my teeth, I stared at my reflection. The most inexpensive outfit (found at Burlington in the clearance rack) was a little bit more revealing than I preferred. The neckline was very low, and it made me nauseous. The ruffly skirt seemed to short. 'Maybe that's why it's on sale,' I thought.<p>

Of the many problems I had, this was the most important: My tattoos.

Back when I was still in my parents' custody, and before they were murdered, my parents decided to let me get a tattoo for my nineteenth birthday. (Yeah, great parenting-getting your kids to get tattoos.) That's why I had tattoos all down my left arm. The tattoo had many different shapes, most of them henna-like or related to ice and snow. A symbol of my "condition"...

I turned my torso to the right and looked at my arm in the reflection. Perhaps my disguise could be a person who has tattoos. I'd already decided to pretend to be a psychology major since I knew how to translate body language (very important for my job). 'I can just be a biker psychology major or something,' I thought.

Back at home, I tried on my whole outfit. My hair would be down, of course, and maybe I could try to keep it straightened. I'd picked up some makeup on my way out (after learning that pink colors are the way to go with my pale blond hair).

I tilted back from my full-length mirror that was given to me in my parents' will. Crossing my arms, I muttered, "This is the most irritating disguise I've ever used."


	3. Chapter 3

Other people walked with me to the party. Luckily, my disguise seemed to mostly fit in. Except for the gloves. Those were just awkward.

The party was on a third floor. Although the elevator was technically meant for anyone in a wheelchair, I still entered it. Four other people followed me, and one just so happened to be Anna.

The other three people were men. One was kind of older, and the others seemed younger (and similar. Maybe they were brothers).

"Weird how the party's on the third floor," the brother-ish person with the mustache remarked.

The brother-ish person without the mustache nodded. "I don't know why they can't have a party on the ground floor anyways."

We waited in awkward silence as the elevator rose. Suddenly, it shook, and then stopped.

"What the crap?" The older man pressed the third floor button a few times. I recognized his weird speech impediment (or accent), and then I remembered that I saw him on the elevator when I first received my job from Hans. I started to say something, but I realized it would just be breaking my cover. So I remained silent.

"Well that's great," Anna muttered sarcastically. She kicked at the elevator door in annoyance.

"That won't do us good," I warned.

Anna raised her eyebrow. "You know what to do in this situation?"

"...Sort of..." Would a biker psychologist know that? Maybe she's a survivalist of some sort. Yeah. Her family whole family are survivalists. "Well, yes, actually," I corrected myself with the confidence that a survivalist biker who was also interested in psychology would have. I tried to remember what I read about being trapped in an elevator. "One of you needs to press all the floor buttons. If none of them work, go and press the 'open door' button. Hopefully that'll work."

The older man with the speech impediment or accent started with the buttons.

"I'm a _little_ claustrophobic," Anna said sheepishly.

"Don't worry. Just breathe normally. The walls are _not_ closing in on you."

I glanced through the gap in the doors. There was a small amount of light, so I assumed we were between floors, but closer to one of the floors.

"Uh...You, one of you...people..." I pointed at the two similar men. "Sorry, I don't know your names. Just...Just call for help or bang your shoe on the door."

The one without the mustache started kicking the door. "Help! We're stuck!"

"None of the buttons worked?" I glanced at the mustache man with the speech impediment.

He shook his head.

"That means the elevator's broken. Try the alarm button then."

The person nodded and pressed the button.

"Does anyone have a phone? I left mine at-" I coughed. "In my dorm."

The two brother-ish people didn't.

"I do," Anna said.

"Okay, good. Text random people you know, or, I don't know, call 112."*

Anna took a phone out of her bra and started to text rapidly. Then she called someone and put the phone on speaker.

"112, what's your emergency?" the operator asked.

"We're trapped in an elevator," replied Anna.

"Where are you right now?"

"Hawking University. Left wing elevator."

"Okay. Can you tell what floor you're on?"

"I don't know. Maybe near the second or third floor. I don't think it's the third, though." Anna looked through the gap in the door. "Probably near the second floor."

"We'll send help. I can keep you on the line until they come."

"No, my phone's almost dead. I have to hang up."

"Just don't panic."

Anna pressed "end call". "Well. That went okay."

"No one's answering us," the mustache person said, and he kicked the door one last time for good measure."\

"We'll be here a while, then," I told them.

"What do we do now?" Anna asked nervously.

"Wait, I guess." I leaned against the rail in the elevator and scratched my arm.

Anna made a sighing noise and scowled at no one in particular.

I glanced at her.

She wore clothes that no one could find comfortable, no matter who they were: A dark pink crop-top with spaghetti strap sleeves, extremely short jean shorts, black leggings, and platform heels that matched her shirt.

Her makeup was mostly shades of green or pink, and she had wavy orange hair with white highlights. I self-consciously glanced at my own dress and wondered if that was normal for a college student.

"Well, since we'll be here for a while, my name is Dick," the man with the weird accent said.**

I made an ugly snorting noise, and the man glared at me.

"Sorry." I stared at my feet.

"Well, I'm Anna."

"Dave," the person without the mustache said.

"David," the one with the mustache added.

"I'm Elsa." A few seconds later, I realized my mistake. 'I was supposed to say "Alexandra"!' I thought angrily. I probably messed it up because I was worried about the elevator being stuck.

Anna sat on the floor and crossed her legs. "Well this sucks."

"Yeah," Dick agreed.

"Are you in this school?" I asked, hopefully not in a rude way.

Dick nodded. "I had a job at a business building, but then I decided to go back to college."

"Cool."

We continued to talk.

"So what's your major, Elsa?"

"Psychology." I stared at the elevator doors. 'From now on, I'll use the stairs,' I told myself.

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><p><strong>I actually looked up the steps of what to do when stuck in an elevator. ^u^ So this is also slightly educational.<strong>

_***112 is the 911 of Europe, and they're in Norway or summat.**_

_****Literally I just got this from a meme where this toddler girl called him...well, you know...XD**_


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